


5 Months Apart (Anderstair 10-day challenge)

by ponticle



Series: Coffee Shop Universe [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: 10 day challenge, Changing POV, Changing Tenses, Exes, F/F, F/M, Letters, M/M, POV experiment, bad relationships, medical setting, missing an ex, sex right off the bat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10036382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: Welcome to the third writing challenge in the Coffee Shop Universe. If you haven't done so already, go read themain story(and the other challenges in the series, if you'd like more  background info, although they aren't strictly necessary).Alistair and Anders attempt to continue with their lives apart, with limited success.Odd-numbered chapters are from Anders' POV (first person, present tense). Even-numbered chapters are from Alistair's POV (third person limited, present tense).





	1. Anders in March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is still struggling 2 weeks after running to Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E: NSFW

* * *

**Anders in March**

* * *

 

 **Fenris** : dude… are you ignoring Renee’s calls?

 **Anders** : no…

 **Fenris** : really?

 **Anders** : okay… a little.

 **Fenris** : that's kinda mean…

 **Anders** : I’m not _trying_ to… I’m just really busy.

_And I’m thinking about Alistair all the time._

**Fenris** : is that true? I thought you were on break this week?

_Damn it. I should never tell people my schedule._

**Anders** : Well, I am… but I’m seeing some of my old training clients this week to make some cash before classes resume…

 **Fenris** : if you don’t like him, you need to _tell_ him. I don’t like being in the middle.

 **Anders** : Sorry, Fen… I’ll handle it…

 

* * *

 

In the two weeks since the White Coat ceremony, I’ve been dodging Renee’s calls like it’s my job. It isn’t because I don’t like him—I _do_ —but I like Alistair more. And seeing him again brought up a lot of old feelings. All of those are compounded by the fact that he’s getting _married_ to someone who isn’t me. And I _know_ Icis—she’s such a great person: super intelligent and probably a great doctor—so it’s impossible to hate her. Instead, I’m just left hating _myself_.

I decide to be honest for once and call Renee right away. I’m nervous as the phone rings.

“Hey!” he says emphatically. “I’m so glad to hear from you!”

_Great…._

“Yeah, me too…” I sputter nonsensically.

“You’re on break this week, right?” he asks.

“Uh… yeah…” I mumble. “How did you know that?”

“Fenris mentioned it…” he explains. “I’d love to take you to dinner and hear all about your last couple weeks.”

I'm trying to think of how to politely decline, but I’m silent for a _second_ too long, so he starts talking again.

“What are you doing tonight?”

Suddenly, I can’t remember how life works and I stumble, “Nothing?”

“Not anymore—meet me downtown,” he says.

He gets points for persistence, anyway. “Okay… give me like an hour?”

We agree to the terms and I hang up. It’s stupid because all I want to do is let him down easy, but I don’t seem to be able to do it.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, I see him. In the span of two weeks, I’d forgotten that he’s actually _very_ handsome and put-together-looking.

“Hey, Anders,” he shrugs and smirks when we get close. He looks like someone I used to _be_ —someone kind and small and gentle… and dreadfully unaware of how great he is. If he knew even a _fraction_ of how cool he is, he would _not_ be putting up with a guy who ignored his calls for two weeks.

“Hi, Renee,” I parrot. Despite the fact that I know he deserves better, I seem to be incapable of giving it to him. “How are you?”

“I’m good—I’ve been busy with school… but I’m good on the whole,” he explains.

“So where are we going?” I ask.

“There’s an awesome Indian restaurant right around the corner… do you like spicy food?” He looks hopeful.

“Yeah, totally.” I _don’t_ , actually, but I want to be agreeable. Particularly since I’m planning to tell him I’m not interested in him.

 

We sit down in the restaurant and order. He’s babbling pleasantly about his dissertation and everything he’s hoping to accomplish in the coming year. He has a passion planner—he likes it a lot; it’s helping him get his ‘ _priorities in order_.’

I nod and smile and get through the dinner without saying anything controversial. I’m planning to tell him when we’re done—or _something_. Only, when we’re done eating, he invites me back to his place and I don’t decline.

As soon as we’re in the door, I know it’s _on_. He pushes me against the wall in his kitchen and kisses me soundly. His face isn’t as soft as it was the first time we kissed a couple weeks ago. He has stubble now. I make a mental note to tell him how much I like facial hair. It’s stupid, because I have no intention of continuing to see him… but… _well_ …

I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him flush against my body. His dick nudges me through his pants, which only feeds my ego. “Bed?” I ask.

He nods desperately.

We sloppily kiss and undress while stumbling through his living room. My thighs hit the side of the bed before my pants are completely off, but they’re _unzipped_ , which is a start.

He drops his pants and kicks them off into some corner of the room before ripping mine down. I have no idea where they end up because I’m so distracted by how his dick looks. First of all, he’s uncut—so that’s _new_. Additionally, his erection sits in the exact middle of his body—Alistair’s always hung slightly to the left.

_Damn it. Stop thinking about Alistair._

I grab him and pull him on top of me as we tumble into the center of the bed. He instantly finds my cock between us and starts to stroke it. His hands are just as soft as the rest of his skin. It feels amazing.

“Are you okay?” he asks me, between kisses.

“God, yes,” I bite the skin of his shoulder and look up at him daringly. “Do you want me?” I ask. I don’t know _why_ I’m rushing this. Maybe, subconsciously, I know that I won’t be able to _do_ it if I slow down.

He nods, his lips slightly parted.

Now comes the awkward part of every same-sex encounter I’ve ever had: the top/bottom discussion.

Only, he preempts me, “Can I fuck you?”

My eyes widen fractionally, but I’m thrown off, so I nod and flip over.

_God, this is moving fast._

He grabs a few things from the bedside table and I hear crinkling, wet noises that confirm he’s into safe-sex. I think about looking at him, but something stops me. Instead, I just arch my back toward him gently and wait until I feel him spread cold liquid across the cleft of my ass.

“Sorry it’s so cold,” he laughs a little.

I smile over my shoulder, “It’s fine…”

To my surprise, the next thing I feel is the tip of his dick nudging against my entrance. I try not to flinch, but I’m not used to this. When I was with Alistair, _I_ would occasionally skip right to the _dick-in-hole_ scenario, but that was because we did it a lot—I _knew_ he’d be ready. I, on the other hand, am _not_ ready.

I hold my breath and try not to squeal as he pushes into me. It isn’t _horrible_ —it gets more tolerable with each thrust. While I’m still adjusting, I have a memory of the last time Alistair and I had sex. It wasn’t like this at all—to call it ‘ _having sex_ ’ seems wrong. ‘ _Making love_ ’ doesn’t even do it justice. We were one heart—even though it was the _end_.

I exhale and try to clear my head before I accidentally sob. This is bringing up a lot of _feelings_ that I’ve been avoiding for a year. My therapist would be _elated_.

Instead of trying to deal with them, I double down in the here-and-now, pushing myself back into Renee and willing my body to cooperate.

He must feel the difference, because he lets out a long groan and grabs my hips.

“Oh god, Renee,” I whimper against a pillow. My dick rubs painfully against the sheets each time he thrusts into me, but I’m pretending to like it.

He supports himself on his left arm and leans down to kiss my neck.

I nuzzle toward him and bite whatever skin I can reach. Nothing about this is gentle anymore.

A minute later, he starts to thrust more frantically. “I’m gonna…”

“I know… do it,” I goad.

When he comes, it’s violent—I feel it happen like he’s somewhere in my viscera… which, I guess, he _is_.

He withdraws stutteringly, suddenly too sensitive to be touched, and gets rid of the condom straight away. I’m left on my side with an aching erection. I touch myself experimentally. A bit of precome leaks out of the slit. The second I thumb it, I realize Renee is back and watching me. I pull my hand back reflexively.

“Don’t stop,” he urges. “You look so amazing doing that.”

I smile haughtily, “Like this?” I grab my dick harder and stroke it a few times demonstratively.

He nods, crawling back into bed with me. “Show me what you like.”

I prop myself on an elbow and spread my legs a little to let him see.

He gasps.

I thrust into my palm a little faster, which he seems to like. I close my eyes, but I can feel him shifting to get closer to me. Before I know it, his fist is on top of mine, following my lead.

“Can I?” he asks.

I open my eyes and nod at him.

When he grabs me, it’s the perfect amount of pressure and speed. I find myself grinding into his hand with abandon. Once we establish a rhythm, I finally let myself go enough to come all over the space between us.

 

* * *

 

A few minutes later, we’re staring at his ceiling and it occurs to me that this is exactly the _opposite_ of what I set out to do today.

 _Whoops_.

“Anders… that was amazing,” he pants.

“Thanks…” I grin. Considering I haven’t had sex (with anyone but myself) in a year, I’m surprised I did that well. “I think most of the credit goes to you, though,” I roll toward him and smirk.

He blushes.

“Honestly, I’m usually not into… _that_ ,” I laugh. I’m referring to the fact that I let him bang me. It’s not really my thing unless I’m emotionally ruined. ...But he has a really nice penis.

“Neither am I…” he mumbles.

I’m not sure what he means, though. Is he agreeing? Telling me he’s _not_ a bottom? That we’re going to have to fight it out all the time. _Oh dear_.

“We should probably clean ourselves up…” he smiles down at the sheets between us.

I nod, “Want to take a shower?”

After such a long dry spell, I’m fairly sure I’ll be ready to go again in about two minutes.

 

* * *

 

In the shower, he’s pliable in my hands—soft everywhere, except where it counts. I eventually find myself shoved against the shower wall, water cascading through my hair, with my dick half way down Renee’s throat. He’s fantastic at this. I’m starting to think that having a younger boyfriend is going to have its advantages. He’s _awfully_ willing to please. My mind hitches: _boyfriend? That’s not what we’re doing here..._

“Renee?” I suddenly pull my hips back and look down at him.

He blinks through a stream of water, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I pull his arm until he stands. I notice we’re almost exactly the same height and size.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whimpers, kissing my clavicle.

Although I like compliments, I push him back slightly so I can look into his eyes. “So are you… but I just want to… be up front about some stuff…”

He looks worried, “okay?”

“Okay,” I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure I’m really ready for a _relationship_ …”

His face falls.

I can’t stand that look, so I backpedal, “But I like you… so maybe we could just see where this goes?” I smile hopefully.

He kisses me so hard I struggle to keep my balance.

 _I guess this is happening_.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunate sex right off the bat? Why not? 
> 
> Tomorrow, we'll see what Alistair's March has been like.


	2. Alistair in March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair gets a promotion. He's still a little shaken, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E: more sex... sue me.

* * *

**Alistair in March**

 

* * *

 

Dear Anders,

 

I realize I shouldn't be writing you. It makes no sense on a variety of levels:

  1. We broke up over a year ago
  2. I'm getting married in August
  3. I'm never going to send this to you



_Nevertheless_ , here I am.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the white coat ceremony. It's stupid, but I'm incredibly preoccupied with how _proud_ I am of you. You are going to be the best doctor I can think of.

I'm doing pretty well on my end too—I recently got a big promotion: Director of Clinical Services. In reality, it isn't very different from what I used to do… I just have endless bureaucracy to wade through now. Icis has been a big help, though. She's in her second year of a residency in my hospital: interventional radiology. She's really cool.

Despite the weirdness of this situation, I think you'd really like her. If you'd met under different circumstances, you might have been friends. I keep having this stupid fantasy about running into you somewhere in the future. Your hair is longer, maybe greying at the temples. You have a husband or a wife and a couple kids. And we just nod to each other from across a crowded room—knowing that even though things didn't work out _for us_ , we're both okay.

That's what I really hope, Andy. I hope you're okay.

Love,

Alistair

 

* * *

 

Alistair is mired in paperwork these days. He spends his free time sifting through emails or writing meeting agendas. It isn’t what he thought he’d be doing when he first became a doctor, but he likes it. He feels like he’s making a difference because he influences the way new doctors are taught. He’s changing non-surgical spine care at its root.

One late night, Icis comes home from a thirty-six hour shift and collapses onto the couch next to him.

“Hey,” he says.

She drops her head into his lap, despite the papers littering it. “I missed you so much…” she says.

“Yeah?” he curls forward to kiss her.

“Yeah… you’re a much better Attending than that asshole Dr. Katz…” she grouses.

He laughs, “Oh, be nice to him—he’s been a _fixture_ at this hospital since before we even entertained the idea of being doctors…”

“That’s exactly the problem,” she rolls her eyes, “he’s a dinosaur.”

Alistair laughs and rubs a hand across her stomach. It’s so flat, it feels hollow. “Have you eaten?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “I had a shitty shift. My stomach is sour.”

“You really should eat _something_ ,” he sneaks his palm under her shirt and drags it across the skin to her left breast.

She laughs, “Could you provide me with a nutrient-rich solution at approximately body temperature?”

He laughs so hard he snorts. “I think that could be arranged.” He pushes all his papers off to the side and drags Icis to her feet.

“I’m so tired…” she complains.

“I know… let me take you to bed…” he offers her an arm.

She grabs onto it, but he ducks and whirls her up into his arms.

She laughs, “I’m not a kid… you don’t have to carry me…”

“I’m practicing for that ‘ _over the threshold_ ’ stuff…” laughs Alistair, dropping her unceremoniously on the bed.

She coughs, “I think your dismount could use some work.”

He leans over to kiss her deeply. Then he starts tugging at her scrubs. They’re sea-green because she’s a surgical resident. His are blue.

“I’m so tired and dirty… I apologize in advance,” complains Icis.

“You’re beautiful,” whispers Alistair, against Icis’ neck. He manages to get her down to her underwear before she reaches out to take his pants off. His cock springs out at her with its slightly left-leaning tendencies. She laughs.

“Oh, _that’s_ what every guy wants… a ‘ _hilarious_ ’ dick,” he jokes.

She cackles, “If you don’t want me to laugh, you should probably keep my mouth busier.”

He takes that as a challenge, stripping off the rest of their clothes and crawling atop her in bed. “I’ve been wanting you all week, you know.”

“I know,” she says between kisses, “I’ve been so strung out because of work… but I wanted you too…” She grabs his dick and strokes it a few times.

He hisses, biting the space between her neck and shoulder.

She coaxes and prods him until the tip of his dick brushes against her. He shivers.

“God, you feel so good,” he whispers, looking down to where they’re touching. He has an idea that he’d like to taste her. She’s funny about it, though. Sometimes, she gets weirded out and doesn’t want him to do it. “Can I?” he asks, gesturing with his gaze.

She makes a face, “I haven’t taken a shower in like two whole days… can we just fuck?” she asks.

He thinks it’s ridiculous, “I _love_ how you taste, no matter what… but I’m never going to say _‘no’_ to fucking.”

They both laugh.

She kisses him again, “How?”

“Like this… at first,” he lines himself up and pushes. She’s so wet, it’s easy. Within a few thrusts, he’s deep inside her, reveling in the warm, gentle pulse of her muscles.

She gasps, “I missed you.” She thrusts her hips up toward him and he lowers himself so he’s grinding against her pelvis.

She makes a face that tells him he’s doing well. He rocks back and forth until he’s sure she’s on the edge.

“Are you close?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.

She nods and bites his shoulder.

He coaxes her through the orgasm like a perfect gentlemen. When she’s on the other side of it, she looks up at him with fire in her eyes. This is when she’s at her best—after the first orgasm.

“Oh god, I want to fuck you,” she says, pushing him off of her.

He obliges, watching her move. She looks feral, in the best way possible. Her hair, which has been in a messy ponytail for the last 36+ hours, finally cascades down her back and partially covers her face, but he can see her eyes—they’re dangerous.

He finds himself flat on his back, looking up at her as she rides him. He feels like he’s never been this dominated in his life—and that’s saying something, considering the situations he’s been in… considering _Anders_.

 _Fuck_.

He tries not to let those thoughts surface. He tries not to even think his _name_. Except—since the white coat ceremony he can’t seem to stop. When they broke up, Alistair thought he was done. When he ran into Icis—when they got together; when they fell in love—he thought he was cured. But all it took was _one_ chance meeting and he is rapidly hurtling toward ruin again.

“Alistair?” Icis looks at him, perplexed. “Are you okay?”

“God, _yes_ …” he lies. He refocuses, “You’re _so_ beautiful.”

“Fuck…” she groans, reinvigorated.

A few more minutes and he comes— _hard_. Icis collapses onto his chest and they breathe together. He rubs circles across the skin of her back.

“Love you,” she whispers.

“Love you too…”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow, we move forward to see what Anders is doing in April.


	3. Anders in April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders attends Isabela's wedding shower with Renee in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M: language, concepts.

* * *

**Anders in April**

 

* * *

 

 **Isabela** : So don’t forget to bring the invitation samples, okay? We’re going to pick them as a group activity.

 **Merrill** : I won’t.

Isabela is talking about her wedding shower. She’s having one, but it isn’t going to be anything traditional. If anything, she’s using it as a way to get other people to do the grunt work involved in wedding planning.

 **Anders** : hey guys… one other thing…

 **Hawke** : yeah?

I bite my lip. I’m a little nervous to tell them.

 **Anders** : I’m bringing Renee…

 **Fenris** : you are?

 **Anders** : yeah… we’ve been… _seeing_ each other.

 **Isabela** : does that mean fucking?

 **Anders** : You’re the worst.

 **Isabela** : let me rephrase: does it mean ‘ _making love_ ’? Lol

 **Anders** : lol… I’m bringing him. Leave it at that.

           

* * *

 

The last month has been interesting. School has been _insanely_ challenging, but equally as rewarding. I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel now. We’re nearing the end of basic sciences and heading toward clinical rotations. Everything feels like it’s moving so _fast_.

That’s true in my personal life too… Renee and I have seen each other every weekend. I go over to his house on Friday night after classes, a full bookbag in tow. He greets me at the door. We fuck. I study for a few hours. We sleep next to each other. On Saturday morning, we have breakfast together before I leave to get to the anatomy lab, where I’m a teaching assistant. Sunday, I hang out with my friends and text Renee covertly. Rinse and repeat the following weekend.

Today is Friday.

“Hey,” says Renee at the threshold.

“Hi,” I breathe against his lips. He’s halfway unbuttoned my shirt before I manage to get another word out. “Can I ask you something?”

He backs up, perplexed, “Yeah?”

I smile and close the door behind me, finding a seat at the counter. “Isabela is having her wedding shower tomorrow…” I begin, “Do you… maybe want to go?”

He looks surprised, “Really?”

I grab his hands and squish them on his lap, “Yeah… I want you to get to know everyone… and Fenris will be there too, of course...”

“Wow…” he blushes, “Yeah… I would _love_ that.”

The way he says _‘love’_ isn’t lost on me. I’ve been really worried that he’s going to blurt that out sometime soon. I won’t know what to do. I’m dreading its eventuality.

“Great… it’s tomorrow at one o’clock,” I smile and kiss him.

We fuck like normal after that. It’s all thrusting and grunting—sweat and ejaculate. Before I know it, we’re in bed, tucked in with my textbooks and his laptop. Although he’s working on a doctorate too, I’m very dismissive of his work. It feels like no one can understand the stress I’m under without going through it personally. I would never tell _him_ that, of course, but I _think_ it—like an asshole.

“So… tell me about your friends,” he says suddenly.

I look up from a page entitled, “differential diagnosis of the cervical spine: an evidence based guide.” This class has been especially difficult for me because it’s Alistair’s specialty. I hear his voice in every passage.

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

“Um… tell me about Isabela?” he smiles. “Fenris doesn’t say much about her…”

I laugh, “That sounds like him… he’s very private…”

We nod to each other.

“Well,” I clear my throat, “She’s crazy… in the nicest way possible… she owns a hipster clothing store downtown… it used to be just hats, but now it sells all kinds of weird stuff…”

We both laugh.

“...and she’s totally in love with Fenris… it’s beautiful, actually,” I’m looking into Renee’s eyes more deeply than I usually do. He looks absolutely enraptured. It makes me feel guilty. I look away and cough.

“And what about Garrett and Merrill?” he asks, “What are they like?”

I laugh again, “Well, first of all, don’t ever call him _Garrett_ —that’s reserved for Merrill, his mother, and me when I’m in trouble.”

He nods, “noted.”

“...but they’re great…” I sigh, “Hawke and I have been friends since college…” In the spirit of avoiding past mistakes, I decide to head off any awkwardness, “I used to _date_ him… for a _very_ short time, just FYI…”

Renee scowls, but recovers when I nudge his shoulder.

“...when he met Merrill, everything changed. He loves her like crazy,” I explain.

Renee nods, smiling again.

It occurs to me that we really can’t hang out with _his_ friends… at least not _most_ of them. What would I do? Go to Dorian’s house? Have dinner with Alistair and Icis? I’d rather _die_. Thank god they live in Brooklyn.

“Well,” I smile and kiss Renee, “I’ve got to get some sleep. See you in the morning.”

Renee and I sleep slightly dressed. It’s not my usual way. With Alistair I never would have done that. We had a strict, ‘ _no clothes in bed_ ’ rule. It didn’t matter if we’d just had the blowout of the century—we would still come to bed naked. With Renee, every rule is different. Most notably, they are all _my_ rules.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, we have sex again before we get dressed. Mostly, I just lie there while Renee sucks and licks me until I’m coming down his throat. I return the favor in the shower, but it’s lackluster comparatively. I don’t think _he_ notices, but _I_ do.

At Isabela’s place, we straighten our collars in tandem. “Ready?” I ask.

He nods as the door swings open. Hawke is on the other side.

“Hey, Buddy,” he hugs me, as per usual, “Nice to see you too, Renee!” he puts his palm out like he’s going to shake hands, but changes his mind halfway through and hugs him.

Renee looks bewildered, but not upset. “Hi, Hawke.”

Merrill peeks out from behind him a second later. “Stop mauling them,” she laughs. “Hello, Andy… Renee: nice to see you.” She shoves Hawke out of our way and lets us into the living room, which is adorably decorated.

Isabela stands when she sees us. She’s wearing an unbelievably short dress. It hugs her curves in every way possible. Renee looks horrified.

“Bela…” I wrap an arm around her waist and whisper, “You look _fucking hot._ ”

She laughs and winks, “Hello, Renee; thanks for coming.”

Fenris emerges from the kitchen and finds Renee. They disappear on some kind of home-tour and I’m left with my friends.

“So?” I raise an eyebrow, “what do you think?”

Hawke squints at me, “What do you mean? We already know him.”

“I know that… I just mean… _us_ …” I roll my eyes, “ _together_.”

Isabela laughs, “Is he good in bed?”

I blush, “yeah… he’s pretty fucking good…”

“Then do it,” she concludes.

Merrill and Hawke laugh, but don’t add anything. Something about Hawke’s expression tells me he’s holding back, but Renee wraps a hand around my waist a second later, so I don’t get to ask.

“I love your house,” he says to Isabela.

“Thanks,” she says. “Fenris lived here before I did… but it wasn’t as _decorated_ back then…” she laughs at Fenris, who is shaking his head.

“I had a couple empty wine bottles around and she’ll never let me live it down!” he laughs.

They kiss as the doorbell rings. Hawke runs to answer it.

Over the next fifteen minutes, every person Isabela has ever known stumbles into the house. Some of them don’t seem to even be aware that this is a _wedding_ shower—it seems more like they came for a kegger. Nevertheless, Renee and I have a wonderful time together and find lots to talk to everyone about.

 

* * *

 

The only disconcerting part of the night comes when we’re about to drive home.

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” he says.

“You don’t have to _thank_ me,” I say, dropping a hand on his knee.

I elected not to drink so that he could socially lubricate a little. He’s adorably tipsy as I drive him back to his place.

“I know… but it means a lot,” he hiccups, “...just to know that you like me enough to bring me to something like that.”

I squeeze his knee.

“Anders?” he looks at me, suddenly serious.

“Yeah?”

“Not to be _lame_ … but can I please introduce you as my boyfriend?” he asks. There is so much tenderness in his voice that I almost weep.

“Yeah… if that’s what you want,” I mumble.

He leans across the center console to kiss my cheek. “That’s _exactly_ what I want.”

 

* * *

 

 _Dear Alistair_ ,

 

I’ve turned a corner. I’m a full-blown asshole now. Don’t try to argue with me—I know when I’m being like this. I guess that’s the real problem, isn’t it? I’m fully aware that I’m stringing this poor kid along, but I’m not doing anything to stop it. What is wrong with me?

Also, _why_ am I writing to you again? I specifically told my therapist I would stop that…

 

[scribbles]

[a list of groceries]

[doodle of a stethoscope]

* * *

 


	4. Alistair in April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen have a dinner party to celebrate a big announcement. Alistair attends, but he has reservations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: language, sadness, that's it.

* * *

**Alistair in April**

 

* * *

 

Anders,

You're never going to believe this: Cullen and Dorian moved in together. I _know_ , right? When they first announced that they were fucking I gave it two months—max. But it’s been almost a _year_ … they're _in love_. It's the craziest thing—I never would have predicted it in a million years.

At first, I was a little upset. Honestly, I always thought that _if_ Cullen was going to settle down for _someone_ it would be for me… when that didn't happen, I convinced myself that he just wasn't _capable_ of that kind of commitment. But that wasn't true… Andy, he loves Dorian like I've rarely seen. He loves him with a passion that trumps all other barriers. He loves him like his _life_ depends on it.

He loves him like I loved you.

That's not to say that I don't love Icis… ~~that's not what I meant to imply.~~

 

 [a blob of ink]

[rest of the page illegible]

 

 

* * *

 

The day that Alistair first hears of Cullen and Dorian’s cohabitation, he feels like his heart will explode. It takes all his willpower not to throw up or throw _something_. It’s Dorian who tells him.

“So… I know this might come as kind of a shock… but I hope that you’re _okay_ with it…” mumbles Dorian. He’s trying to be reasonable; Alistair can tell.

“Um… yeah… I _totally_ get it,” says Alistair. He scratches the nape of his neck and tries to remember how to smile. He knows the situation requires it, but it feels impossible.

“Good,” smiles Dorian, “because we both care about you _so_ much… and we wouldn’t want there to be weirdness…”

The way Dorian says ‘ _we_ ’ makes Alistair want to slap him, but he manages to keep his face neutral.

“I’m really happy for you,” he lies.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, there is a housewarming party. It’s the kind of thing Alistair would rather avoid, but at least he has a date: Icis is in the bathroom, curling her hair.

“Hey, Sweetie?” he calls. “Are you almost ready?”

“Almost,” she laughs, “Are you in a hurry? I thought you were dreading this?”

He can’t argue with that. “I guess I am… but I’ve always been the type of person who walks faster in the cold…”

“What?” she laughs again.

“You know…” he smiles to himself, “when you’re outside and it’s freezing…? Some people walk slower—hunkering down—but _I_ walk faster, even if it _does_ feel worse… because a short time of misery is preferable to prolonged, low-grade, suffering.”

Icis comes out of the bathroom, looking absolutely beautiful. Alistair’s breath catches.

“You look like… like I don’t belong in the same _room_ with you…” he smiles.

“Yeah, yeah,” she laughs. “You are _very_ handsome too…” She reaches up to kiss him and bites his bottom lip before letting it go. He loves how unpredictable she is.

“All right, let’s go,” he suggests.

Before she complies, she looks him square in the eye. Sometimes he thinks she’s reading his mind when she does this—it’s so intimate.

“I love you, you know…” she says seriously.

“Yeah, I know,” he smirks.

“Yeah, well… let it be known that _because_ I love you, I’m letting you wallow in sadness over an ex…” she continues.

He feels a pang of guilt.

“—and I’m _not_ saying that to make you feel guilty,” she preempts his apology, “I’m telling you that so you’ll understand _how much_ I love you. I love you enough to see all the parts of you and not look away.”

Alistair smiles, but he knows he doesn’t deserve her. Because deep down, _this_ isn’t the ex he’s actually upset about. But he isn’t ready to even say Anders’ name, let alone talk to Icis about it. This old infatuation is the _safe_ way to express himself—it’s a _mask_.

“I know, Icis—you’re amazing…”

She kisses him again and they leave, hand-in-hand.

 

* * *

 

At the door, Alistair straightens. Icis doesn’t need to; she already looks ready to take on the world. She’s formidable in every arena.

“Hey,” says Cullen, when he sees her. He picks her up and twirls her over the threshold.

Alistair stifles a laugh, but Icis catches him. “What are _you_ laughing at,” she teases.

“ _You_ ,” he flirts. “You’re so tiny…”

It’s true—she’s a full head shorter than he is.

“But you make up for it in intensity,” adds Dorian from somewhere.

“Thank you,” she laughs.

Alistair wonders transiently if it’s weird for her that these used to all be her professors. Now she’s enmeshed in their lives in ways she probably wouldn’t have predicted.

“Thanks for coming, Al,” says Cullen. He puts his hand on Alistair’s shoulder. It feels familiar, but not _good_.

“You’re welcome,” says Alistair. He pulls back and brushes a hand through his hair, looking for Icis. She’s a lifeline.

“Congratulations, Cullen,” says Icis. “Can I get the tour?”

“Yeah, of course,” he smiles, pulling her up a flight of stairs.

Alistair is left alone in the midst of a crowd. Sometimes, he thinks that’s the most solitary position of all. He wonders if this is what life is going to be like now. He can’t imagine how it would change. Just a couple more months and he’ll be _married_. It’s good, though. It’s a smart choice, he tells himself.

 

“Al?” calls Icis.

It breaks his reverie, “Yeah?”

“Come upstairs!” she shouts. “We have to show you something.”

“Coming,” he breathes and remembers to _smile_.

“So this is going to be the baby’s room,” says someone. Alistair is _sure_ he hasn’t heard right— _no one_ could be talking about babies in this house. But someone _is_ —it’s Dorian.

“Dorian!” Icis squeals, “I had no idea!” She’s hugging him when Alistair turns the corner into a fully appointed nursery.

“What?” Alistair’s mouth drops open.

Dorian looks at him wistfully. “I was planning this already—on my own… but when Cullen and I decided…” he wipes a hand across his cheek. Cullen wraps his arms around Dorian’s waist. “That’s when I knew it was finally the right time…”

“Oh my god,” says Alistair. He tries to make it sound like he approves, but he isn’t sure it’s working. This is _a lot_ to absorb.

“Congratulations, Dorian… Cullen,” Icis hugs both of them.

Alistair forces himself to move into the group hug when Icis waves him over. The four of them squish their faces together and squeal.

“So… this is what the party is _really_ about,” admits Cullen. “We didn’t want to tell everyone individually—we wanted to have everyone here and show them the room, and whatnot…” He kisses the side of Dorian’s head and smiles again. “But we wanted to show you _first_ ,” he says to Alistair.

Alistair has never seen them so happy. Ostensibly, they’re his two best friends. He wants desperately to be happy for them. He’s _trying_ to be.

 

The night continues as planned. Dorian and Cullen orchestrate the ‘big reveal’ to the rest of the party-goers a little later and are showered with kisses and congratulations. Eventually, someone asks the question that Alistair dreads: ‘are _you_ having kids soon?’

Icis laughs and blushes, “We’re really busy with our careers right now…” she answers politely.

Alistair smiles, “...but it’s not completely off the table.”

This is their rehearsed answer. They have been refining it since they first got engaged. The question passes and Alistair doesn’t think of it again until they’re back in the car, heading home.

 

* * *

 

“That was really something, wasn’t it?” asks Icis. She’s staring out the window.

“I still can’t believe it,” laughs Alistair. “I never thought either of them would have kids, to be honest…”

Icis smiles. They’re both quiet for a while.

“What about you, Al?” she asks suddenly, “did you ever think _you’d_ have kids?”

Alistair swallows hard. There was a time when he thought he definitely would—at the same time when he lived in a _fantasy_ about marrying Anders…

“I don’t really see myself with kids,” he answers.

“Me neither,” smiles Icis. She grasps his hand on the shifter between them and smiles. “Thank god you said that. I was about to call off the wedding.”

They both laugh. Icis seems to have forgotten about it already, but Alistair can’t. Does it _mean_ something that he can’t muster the desire to procreate when he’s marrying someone who could legitimately bear his children? More than that—does it mean something that he can’t stop comparing _everything_ to life with Anders?

* * *

 


	5. Anders in May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Renee continue to see each other. One afternoon, Renee receives a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E: sex

* * *

**Anders in May**

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Sweetie,” says Renee. He’s looking through a stack of mail when I get to his apartment. He kisses me gently and then looks back at one particular embossed letter.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he lies. His ears are turning pink. It’s a telltale sign.

“Oh yeah?” I ask, smirking. I grab the letter out from under him and instantly wish I didn’t.

[You are cordially invited to the nuptials of Drs. Alistair Theirin and Icis Lavellan… 6 o’clock in the evening, August 7th…]

I stop reading. My face feels flushed.

“See?” he shakes his head and pulls the letter back. “I knew you wouldn’t want to see this…”

“Yeah,” I mumble, leaning into the island counter. “I guess…”

It occurs to me that I should have argued with him. A normal boyfriend would have said ‘ _no, I’m fine—we’re together now_ ,’ etc. etc…. But we’re not normal.

“I’m going to decline, of course,” he says.

“What?” I look up at him. “You don’t have to do that. All your friends are going to be there.”

“Yeah… but my _boyfriend_ isn’t… so what’s the point?” he smiles at me gently.

“They didn’t give you a _Plus 1_?” I ask, perplexed.

“They _did_ …” he looks nervous, “but you wouldn’t really _go,_ would you?”

I laugh humorlessly, “God, no…”

“Then what are we even talking about?” he asks. He circles the counter to get to me and kisses my cheek.

“You’re right; forget it,” I turn my head until our lips brush. “Come here,” I raise an eyebrow and pull him toward the bedroom.

Something that I really like about having a 25-year-old boyfriend is that he basically _never_ turns down sex. His erections are not only easy to come by, but easy to reproduce.

“I want you so bad,” I whisper, pulling his shirt off over his head. His chest looks great these days. Since he started training with me, he’s put on quite a bit of muscle—he says he’s never felt better.

I lean in and lick one of his nipples. He has never told me _specifically_ if he likes it or not, but I think he does—it makes him shiver.

“God, Andy…” he breathes.

My eyes are closed when he says that. ‘ _Andy_ ’ is _not_ what he usually calls me. My friends do… but most poignantly, that’s what Alistair used to call me. Something rubbles in my guts—telltale signs of guilt.

“Renee,” I breathe. I’m not sure if I’m _addressing_ him or just reinforcing who he _is_.

He reaches down to unzip my pants as I rip my shirt off over my head. Before I know it, I’m hovering over him in the middle of his bed, my dick nudging his. “I want you,” I groan.

“How?” he asks.

“I want to be _inside_ you.” I smile, “but I have other plans first…”

I crawl down to his hips while he watches me, writhing in anticipation.

When I suck him into my mouth, he automatically starts to thrust. Not roughly—just a small, undulating, reminder that he wants me. I love it, actually. My favorite thing about having sex with him is that he’s _grateful_ —every one of his actions tells me that he is crazy about me, in one way or another.

He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls. I take that as encouragement and swirl my tongue around the crown of his cock. He shivers.

“Anders…” he groans.

I grab his ass and kneed it.

“Will you please touch me?” he asks. “...that way I like?”

I smirk around his dick and reach for the lubricant.

He breathes a sigh of relief—as if he’s been waiting his whole _life_ for this—as I ease a finger into him. He likes to be fingered now. In fact, I’m making him into a bottom little by little, he just doesn’t know it yet.

He reaches for me as I work. He can’t really reach much of me, but he can palm the back of my head, which I really like, actually.

I’m having a problem, though. The longer I do this, the more it reminds me of the studying I should be doing. I have final exams coming up—they’re all about the reproductive system this term. They’re especially focused on prostate pathology—cancer, benign prostatic hypertrophy, prostatitis, etc. It seems awfully _fucking_ ironic that I’m purposely _pushing_ on Renee’s prostate. Irritation is a risk factor for developing cancer in all sorts of tissue types. I suddenly sit up. He looks at me questioningly.

“I’m sorry—I’m…” I fumble the words. “I’m so stressed about my exams next week—I can’t concentrate.”

Renee is probably frustrated, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead he sits up so we’re chest-to-chest and kisses me.

“Don’t worry, Sweetie… I’ll help you,” he smiles hopefully.

My internal monologue says some very disparaging things about how unhelpful he would be—he probably wouldn’t even know how to _pronounce_ some of the words he’d need to read—but I don’t say any of that.

“Thanks,” I kiss him. “I’m going to clean myself up and then set up a studying bunker in the kitchen—okay?”

He nods.

 

* * *

 

Later that week, I run into Hawke. It’s not much of an accident, actually. I _specifically_ go to the Hanged Man to find him. Although I don’t really have time to hang out in bars anymore, it feels comfortable when I walk in and people smile at me.

“Hey,” says Hawke. He’s sitting in his usual seat at the bar.

“Hi,” I slide in next to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Avoiding Renee?” I blurt.

Hawke rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, “You’re sick of babysitting?”

I laugh, “shut up.”

“Seriously, what’s the problem?” he asks.

“Am I a horrible person?” I frown.

“It depends what we’re talking about,” he hedges. “I mean… you’re becoming a doctor—so you can’t be that bad… but you _are_ kind of a shitty boyfriend to Renee.”

“I knew it…” I sigh.

“Not _that_ shitty…” he pats my back. “But you want me to be honest, right?”

“Definitely.”

“Then you have two options,” he swallows the rest of his beer and motions for another one. “You can clean up your act—start treating him like he _means_ something to you—or you can break up with him.”

I’ve been hoping that it wouldn’t come to that.

Hawke seems to know what I’m thinking, “I mean… he’s crazy about you… you’re really taking advantage.”

“I know…”

We sit in silence for a little while, just drinking and vaguely watching the news flickering on the TV over the bar.

“What would _you_ do?” I ask.

“What does that matter? I’m not you,” Hawke laughs.

“Seriously, Garrett…” I put a hand on his forearm. He knows I’m serious because I used his first name.

“Okay… it’s like this…” He looks nervous. “I don’t think you love him—”

I interrupt, “—it hasn’t been long enough to _know_!”

“—you’re _never_ going to love him…” Hawke raises an eyebrow, “I don’t think…”

I bite my lip.

“And it’s not his fault—I just don’t think you’re made for each other…” he says. “That doesn’t make what you’ve been doing any less important. He’s helped you get over Alistair, right?”

He’s thrown me with that bit. I default to a lie, “Yeah… he has.”

“Then that’s huge—I think you should thank him, but let him _go_ —so he can find the person who really _is_ for him,” suggests Hawke.

“God, you’re good at this,” I laugh.

“What?” Hawke smiles.

“Giving advice!” I smirk, “Maybe you should become a therapist.”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously, though—thank you… you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

We spend the next hour drinking and laughing. It’s a small reprieve from studying that I really need and spending it with Hawke is the nicest afternoon I’ve had in ages.     

 

* * *

 


	6. Alistair in May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is reticent to help Icis with a problem at work. In the aftermath of a mistake, he turns to Dorian for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: emotional turmoil, but nothing racy.

* * *

**Alistair in May**

 

* * *

 

Dear Anders,

 

The summer is almost upon us. I’m getting married in exactly three months. We’re in wedding planning overdrive right now. As weird as it seems, I’m actually pretty into planning this thing. I picked all the centerpieces and I hired the band. I even had input on what Icis is wearing. She’s having a beautiful white suit tailored. It’s super sexy—an ironic, bold choice. You’d love it.

Neither of us is changing our names. We became doctors with these names, after all. It’s a big accomplishment, as you well know.

 _That’s_ the major problem here, isn’t it? I keep thinking about what _your_ input in all of this would be. It’s so stupid.

Anyway… we sent out the invitations a couple days ago. We invited Renee, of course. I can’t help but wonder if you’ve continued seeing him after the gala. If you have, I hope you’re happy. He’s a really nice kid. But I’m also scared that you _are_ dating him. I have this insane idea that you’ll show up at my wedding. And I’ll _wish_ you were there to break it up, but you won’t be. You’ll be there announcing you’re getting married too… or you’re adopting a baby like Cullen and Dorian… or you’re moving out of the country for doctors without borders… or something.

I’m sure none of that will happen.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Alistair is stressed about the close of the academic year. He has so much more pressure on him this year than he has in the past. It’s up to him (virtually alone) to decide who will be offered attending positions and who _won’t_. He’s going to ask Dorian and Cullen to help him. He won’t ask Icis, though. It would be incredibly inappropriate.

Thankfully, he has nothing to do with the decision about what will happen to her, since she’s surgical and he isn’t. That will be up to a whole other _breed_ of doctor to decide, actually. Surgeons are like another species—driven by a need to conquer. He sees it in her—he always has.

She opens the door noisily and drops her things. “Al?” she calls.

He stands from his desk and rounds the corner, “Hi?”

“Hi,” she looks upset. “I need to talk to you— _now_.”

Alistair feels his face flush. Icis usually keeps her cool no matter what.

She pulls him to the couch by the crook of his arm. They sit face to face.

“I promised myself I would never do this,” she bites her lip, “...but I need a favor.”

He almost says, _‘anything_ ,’ but he thinks better of it and elects to nod.

“—I need you to find out if I’m going to be offered a job,” she says.

He feels his face fall, “Icis—you _know_ I can’t do that… that would be a gross abuse of power.”

“Al!” she grabs his hands desperately, “I think Dr. Katz is stonewalling me.”

He squints at her.

“You’ve seen the radiology department—it’s a fucking sausage fest in there,” she yells. “And the _interventional_ radiology group is just five old white guys.”

She’s right, of course. Alistair knows all of them—they’re fixtures. There’s one woman in radiology, but she’s only there so they can keep their research grant.

“Al…” Icis’ expression softens, “I _want_ this so bad… and I _deserve_ it! Please—please—help me.”

Alistair hangs his head, “Okay, Icis—I’ll find out…”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Alistair gets the information Icis wants. It’s not good news. They’re not planning to offer her a position in this hospital, for reasons unknown, but they _are_ going to make her an offer—back in Boston.

This is bad for a variety of reasons. Primarily, Alistair would not be able to do his same job in the Boston hospital—it would be a demotion and a huge pay cut. Secondarily—and more gut-wrenchingly— _Anders_ is in Boston.

Alistair imagines a scenario where they move back into his old apartment building. Anders still lives upstairs—in their old place, where they fell in love. They run into each other in the elevator one day and he can’t help it—he shoves Anders against the opposing wall and kisses him. His _pretends_ to struggle—he _tries_ to do the right thing—but he’s already running his fingers through Alistair’s hair.

_Fuck._

He shakes his head, trying to clear the haze filling his skull from ear to ear.

He picks up his phone, “Hi… Icis?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” she asks. She sounds like she’s trying to keep panic from her voice.

“I found out—they haven’t decided anything yet,” he lies. “They’re having a meeting in a couple weeks—after the term ends.”

“Fuck,” she sighs. “This waiting is going to kill me.”

“I know, right?”

“Thank you so much for looking into this for me,” she sounds so grateful; Alistair hates himself.

“Gotta go; love you, Al.”

He hangs up.

 

* * *

 

He instantly regrets lying, but it’s too late now. Besides, he’s bought himself a couple weeks to think this through—to figure out if moving is even an option. It strikes him that he doesn’t even entertain the idea that Icis would turn down the job to stay with him. Not because she’s a bad person—not even because he she doesn’t love him enough—but because she values ambition over all else. She’s a warrior—she was _made_ for the struggle. He admires her, even though she’s occasionally terrifying.

Rather than going home, he texts Dorian.

 **Alistair** : can you meet me at that bar we like downtown? The one that’s next to the burrito place?

 **Dorian** : yeah, totally. Give me 20 minutes.

Alistair elects to walk, even though it’s getting dark. May is beautiful in Brooklyn. Along the way, he passes a protest of some kind. A bunch of men wearing shirts with triangles on them are holding up signs and shouting unintelligibly. It’s really werid being a bisexal person—when he was dating Anders, he would have had no qualms about going over there and picking up a sign, but now that he’s marrying a woman, he has reservations. He fears rejection somewhere deep in his subconscious.

He nods encouragingly to the mob, but doesn’t stop.

Around the corner, Dorian is already approaching the bar’s double doors. He stops when he sees Alistair.

“Hey,” smiles Dorian. “How are you?”

Alistair thinks about lying, but he doesn’t. He’s too tired to sustain a fake-happy attitude. He sighs and shakes his head.

“Oh shit, you need a drink,” says Dorian. He puts an arm around Alistair’s shoulders and pulls him inside the restaurant.

“So what’s your deal?” asks Dorian.

Alistair sighs, “I can’t move to Boston.” Without context, he knows this doesn’t make any sense, but he doesn’t know where to start.

Dorian almost laughs, “Okay… what does that mean?”

“Well… we _all_ used to live in Boston… we _liked_ it there, right?” says Alistair. He’s talking into the hollow of his glass. He needs another beer already.

“Yes… we did…” Dorian clears his throat, “Then some _things_ happened and we all eventually moved to Brooklyn… which, honestly, suits me better.”

Alistair smirks, “You were _made_ to live in Brooklyn—right down to your ironic facial hair.”

“Exactly,” laughs Dorian, smoothing his mustache.

“So—short version: Icis is going to be offered a really awesome job in back in Boston. I know about it, but she doesn’t yet…” he pauses, “namely, because I _lied_ to her about it…”

Dorian raises an eyebrow.

“—and I did it because I _can’t_ go back to Boston… not while Anders is still there,” he finishes.

“Andraste’s tits… _that’s_ what this is about?” says Dorian. He’s incredulous.

Alistair nods miserably.

“It’s a big city, Al,” says Dorian.

“I know that… but I feel like his ghost is everywhere…”

“He’s not _dead_ , Al,” deadpans Dorian.

Alistair rolls his eyes.

“...but I know what you mean. Al, this seems like a really major internal conflict,” he says seriously. “And I don’t know why you called _me_ … because Cullen _literally_ does this for a living…” he laughs, “but I’ll tell you what I think, if you want to know.”

Alistair smiles and nods.

“I think seeing Anders at that gala really fucked you up,” says Dorian. “That’s a technical term—ask Cullen…”

They both laugh.

“—and I think you haven’t really dealt with your breakup in any meaningful way. You just got into this new relationship with Icis…” Dorian cocks his head to the side. He looks _parental_. “Which is a very _good_ relationship—but it’s serious, and it has _gravity_ —and I think you’re going to need to talk to her about this.”

Alistair was afraid of that.

“Thanks, Dor… I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” smirks Dorian. “Next time, though, please call Cullen… I got into radiology because I _hate_ dealing with people…”

* * *

 


	7. Anders in June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is stressed and tired and not making time for anyone--especially Renee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M: concepts

* * *

**Anders in June**

 

* * *

 

I’m about to start a new term again. These seem to be passing more and more quickly now. I haven’t had much time for Renee lately. He’s nice about it, of course, but I know he’s upset. Tonight, I’ve made it my mission to get over to his place before midnight. I just have so much studying to do before then. I’m buried.

 

Despite my best efforts, I don’t make it until 1:40am.

“Hey,” yawns Renee. He’s gotten out of bed to let me into the apartment, but he isn’t dressed. He’s just wearing boxer briefs that have seen better days—there’s a hole in the crotch.

“Hi,” I kiss him and drop my things in the entryway.

“Another late night, huh?” he mumbles. His eyes are half-closed. He looks exhausted.

“Yeah… sorry to wake you…” I shrug.

He takes my hand and pulls me toward his bedroom. “Let’s just go to sleep. I can’t even _exist_ right now.”

I laugh, but oblige him.

“Hey,” I put a hand on his shoulder before he can lie down, “Can you take these off?” I ask, pointing to his underwear.

He looks down at them in confusion, “I guess.”

I smile and strip my clothes off. We slide between the sheets naked and I curl in behind him. I’m feeling slightly aroused, so I gently thrust against him.

He growls, “I have a really early morning, Anders.”

“I can be really quick,” I joke.

“I know you can,” he teases, turning over.

“Ouch.”

We both laugh.

“I usually don’t sleep naked like this… it feels weird,” he says.

“Really?” I kiss him. “I think it feels _great_ —you have really nice skin.” I run a hand up and down his side and eventually cup his ass.

He squints at me. “Hey, Anders?”

“Yeah?”

“Is this _all_ we’re ever going to be?” he asks.

The mood in the room has just changed drastically. I feel my skin prickle.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I hedge.

“I just want to know… if we’re _going_ somewhere…” he mumbles.

I try to think of something to say, but I’m coming up empty.

“...because I really, really like you…” he shrugs, “but I want certain things in my life… I want to get married—I want to have kids someday.”

“I know that,” I interrupt. He told me that on our first date, after all. I haven’t forgotten.

“Okay… well, do _you_?” He’s so earnest. It hurts to look at him.

“I...I don’t know,” I admit.

He sighs and bites his lip.

“—that’s what I thought.” He stands up and starts putting clothes on—more than he had on when he opened the door. “Anders… I don’t think this is going to work…”

“What?” I sit up. I don’t know why, but I’m seriously _surprised_ that this is happening. I shouldn’t be—I’ve been a shitty boyfriend since day one. I didn’t even care enough to let him out of this a month ago when Hawke said I should.

“Please don’t make me say it again,” says Renee. He looks miserable.

“Okay, Renee…” I stand up and dress, “I’ll go.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t chase me. He doesn’t cry. He just watches me leave and deadbolts the door behind me. And that’s it. It’s _over_.

I take a Lyft back to my apartment because the direct train doesn’t run this late. Besides, I have too much crap with me. I managed to grab basically everything I ever left at Renee’s in one fell swoop.

I drag everything up the stairs to my place—the elevator is out of service this weekend—and make my way to my door. Except when I get there, something is amiss.

 _Fuck_.

The door is open ajar. I drop my things in the hallway and sneak into my darkened kitchen. Predictably, the wood planks of the floor creak. They’re the same factory floors from the late 1800s; they’re not _engineered_ to be quiet.

“Hello?” calls a tentative voice.

I flick on the light, ready to yell, but find Isabela sitting in the middle of my living room, crying.

“What?” I let the door close behind me, my stuff a distant memory in the hallway, and rush forward. “What happened? Are you okay?”

She nods miserably. “I’m sorry to barge in like this… I just thought you would be at Renee’s and I had to get out of the house.”

I put a hand on her shoulder encouragingly, “Don’t worry about it. What’s going on?”

“I had a fight with Fenris,” she says.

I find that unbelievably surprising—I have literally _never_ heard of them fighting in the history of their relationship. “What was it about?”

“Nothing, actually,” she sobs.

I squint, but I’m not going to badger her. I just wait until she starts talking again.

“He was asking me about the seating chart for the wedding—a bunch of fucking questions about who should sit next to whom…” she cries, “and I was like, ‘ _Fen, who the fuck cares_?’ and he said, ‘ _well, I do_!’”

I’m failing to see how this turned into a fight, but obviously, it means something _to her_ , so I stay quiet.

“And then we just fell apart. He wants to have this stupid fucking wedding—full of all these ridiculous traditions that I don’t give a shit about!” she yells, “...and I’m standing there, looking at him go on and on, and it hits me all at once: he wants me to be someone I’m _not_.”

“Oh, Bela,” I hug her into my chest, “That is absolutely not true—Fenris _loves_ you.”

She pulls back, fire in her eyes, “He loves the _idea_ of me.”

I know what she means, but I have a really good argument for that. It’s something I’ve fought out internally for the last year.

“We can only _ever_ love the idea of someone,” I say gently.

She looks perplexed.

“Listen—when I see _you_ , I think ‘ _I love her—she’s one of my best friends_ ,’ but I only love the idea of you: the concept of who you are. It’s based on a lot of good information, and deductive reasoning skills, but it’s still a _projection_ ,” I explain. “It’s based on how I see the world and it’s colored by my own experiences.”

She looks like she might be coming around, even though she’s still crying.

“So when Fenris sees you, he _tries_ to see the best picture of you he can—but he’s only capable of so much,” I soothe. “And I know, for a fact, that he _loves_ the picture of you he’s capable of seeing.”

She smiles, despite herself.

“If you are upset about the wedding plans, Bel,” I back up, trying to sound reasonable, “You just need to tell him. I’m sure he’ll change anything you want changed. He doesn’t care about _any_ part of the wedding as much as he cares about you.”

She cries for a while. She’s still winding down from how upset she was, I guess.

“Thanks, Andy,” she says finally. “Hey… why aren’t you at Renee’s?”

I smile, guilt creeping into my guts. “We broke up.”

“Oh fuck!” she yells and hugs me again. “Here I am going on and on and you’re _hurting!_ ”

“I’m actually _not_ ,” I mumble against her shoulder.

She pulls back, “what do you mean?”

“I’m not really hurting…” I repeat. “I think this is the right thing, actually… I’ve been stringing him along for way too long.”

She looks at me pityingly. “Andy, you’re growing up so fast.” She pinches my cheeks.

“Thanks, _mom_ ,” I tease.

“Want to watch a movie and eat junk food?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t you want to call Fenris?” I ask.

“I’ll text him to tell him I’m here, but I want him to sweat it out a little,” she winks.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, right? Now let's see if Anders can put himself back together. :) 
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments and support. I'm so excited to share the rest of this challenge (and story) with you. :)


	8. Alistair in June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis comes home furious. Alistair back-peddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: language, lying

* * *

**Alistair in June**

 

* * *

 

Dear Anders,

 

One more month down. We’re in the thick of it now.

I remember the way you used to count down to things. Remember that chain-link thing you made before Christmas? You made 90 paper links and we ripped one apart every morning over breakfast? You were _so_ excited. I never bothered to tell you that I found little shreds of paper everywhere for six months after that.

Well, I haven’t made a paper chain countdown to the wedding. I sort of want to. I _want_ to write it in my planners and circle it on my calendar at work… but I haven’t done it. I don’t know what that means.

 

* * *

 

“Al!? Are you home?” yells Icis. She has just come inside and the rage pouring off of her is palpable.

“Icis?” he scrambles to meet her in the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“You tell me, you asshole!” she grits her teeth. “I just heard from the fucking committee—they’re offering me a position in _Boston_!”

Alistair tries to look surprised, “well... Honey… that’s _great_ , isn’t it?”

“Yeah… except they told me they talked to _you_ about it a fucking month ago!”

“Oh…” Alistair tries to think of a suitable lie to get himself out of this, but the one that he comes up with is really lame, “I didn’t know it was a _sure_ thing at the time; I didn’t want to get your hopes up for nothing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Icis cuts him off. She waves a hand at him dismissively.

Alistair doesn’t argue.

“I just don’t understand, Al,” she squints at him. Alarmingly, she looks more hurt than mad. “Why would you do that to me?”

“I don’t know…” he lies.

“You don’t do _anything_ without knowing why,” she looks down at the floor and closes her eyes.

He wonders if she’s about to cry. He’s _never_ seen her do that. She’s such a pillar of strength—crying seems antithetical to her core beliefs. Alistair takes two tentative steps forward and wraps his arms around her. She doesn’t struggle, but she doesn’t hug back either.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He _is_ , too. He wouldn’t necessarily do it differently if he could, but he really doesn’t feel good about hurting her. That wasn’t his _goal_.

“Then why?” her voice is muffled against the fabric of his shirt. She struggles to look up at him. “Why would you do that? It makes no sense.”

“I can’t move back to Boston…” he whispers.

She squints at him and steps back, “What? Why? You _love_ Boston.”

He has just a second to decide: is he going to tell her everything? He decides on a version of ‘ _everything_.’ It’s a half-measure, but he just isn’t _ready_.

“When I moved here… it wasn’t because the job was so good I couldn’t pass it up,” he begins.

She squints at him. He leads her by the hand to sit at the counter.

“—I left because Anders and I _had_ to break up,” he admits.

“Really?” she looks skeptical. The way he has explained this whole thing to her has _significantly_ minimized the role Anders played in his life.

“Yeah… we broke up and I _literally_ couldn’t stand to be in the same city where he lives,” admits Alistair. “I wasn’t the one who wanted to end it.”

“Oh,” she mumbles.

“...but he was right—we really needed a fresh start: both of us,” Alistair brushes a hand through his hair. “I just got freaked out about the prospect of moving back to Boston—running into him somewhere…”

“I get that,” says Icis tentatively, “but we’ve been together a year… we’re getting married…”

It’s such an obvious thing to say—completely rooted in fact and strung together with sound logic. Alistair hates himself.

“I know—I’m such an idiot,” he groans.

She doesn’t argue with him. She’s not swayed by his self-deprecating moods. She’s too _clever_ to fall for thinly veiled manipulation.

“Well, I don’t want that job anyway,” she says finally.

He looks up, “Really?”

“ _Really_ —I’m not going to make you move after you just got that big promotion,” she rolls her eyes, “What kind of a partner would I be if I asked you to do that?”

He’s shocked, frankly. “Oh my god, Icis,” he stands and gathers her into a squeezing hug. “You are incredible…”

She laughs. “Yeah, yeah, I bet you say that to all the girls… and boys.”

“I do… but I’m usually lying,” he jokes. “So what are you going to do?”

She sighs, “I don’t know… but I’m sure we’ll figure it out, right?”

“Right,” he kisses her forehead.

He makes a silent promise to himself to do _better_.

 

* * *

 

Everything moves forward as normal after that. There isn’t much talk about in the future—after all, they have a wedding looming. It’s amazing how much time and effort goes into one of those. Alistair wishes they could elope.

One afternoon, Alistair receives an email that changes everything.

[Dear Dr. Theirin, I have an excellent student who has chosen primary non-surgical spine care as a possible specialty and I wonder if you might consider meeting with him.]

It lists a few of this student’s accomplishments. According to the letter, he has a 3.79 GPA, he excels at rehab based protocols, and he has an excellent grasp of differential diagnosis.

Alistair has already decided to meet with him before he reaches the bottom of the email. His heart stops when he reads the name: _Anders_.

He picks up the phone immediately to call Boston University. An administrative assistant picks up the phone.

“Hi, yes, this is Dr. Alistair Theirin—I’m calling in response to an intern match letter I received,” he begins.

“Yes, thank you for calling me back so quickly, Dr. Theirin,” says the receptionist. “Let me connect you with our coordinator and we can get you set up—”

Alistair interrupts her, “I’m sorry.. I’m actually calling to say that my program is full next term… so I can’t meet with your student.”

“Oh,” she sounds disappointed, “well, thank you for calling to let us know.”

“I do have some recommendations for other programs he could apply to,” Alistair adds.

“Thank you!” The receptionist sounds happy again, “would you mind emailing me those names?”

“Certainly. Thanks.”

They hang up and Alistair hears a whooshing sound in his ears—like the precursor to passing out, but more sinister.

He pulls a piece of paper out of his desk.

 

* * *

 

Dear Anders,

 

I got a letter with your name in it today—your _actual_ name. When I read it, I didn’t believe it at first. You want to do what I do. Is it ridiculous that I wish we could do it together?

 

[illegible]

* * *

 


	9. Anders in July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders realizes he'd better get back into therapy. Fenris and Isabela's wedding approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M: language, concepts

* * *

 

**Anders in July**

 

* * *

 

It’s been a month since Renee and I broke up. It didn’t feel real for a week, to be honest. I’m so busy with classes, my TA job, and seeing personal training clients on the side that I barely felt the difference—until the first Friday that I didn’t go to his place.

I miss him, but the _way_ I miss him is confirmation that it was never going to work out. I miss the comforting sound of his voice. I miss the Friday-evening-fuck. I miss his jokes. But I _don’t_ miss him with my soul. I don’t miss him like I missed Alistair every day for a year—like I _still_ miss him.

_I’m still totally fucked._

 

* * *

 

This realization leads me back to therapy.

“So Anders,” says Reimas, “it’s been a while since I last saw you—have you been okay?”

I shrug, “yeah… more or less… I had a boyfriend for a while.”

She raises an appraising eyebrow, “Oh really? Tell me about that.”

“Well, his name was Renee…” I begin. “He was getting a PhD— _is_ ,” I correct, “...is getting a PhD in anthropology.”

She interrupts me, “—tell me about the _relationship_ , not his resume.” She laughs and so do I.

“Yeah… okay…” I clear my throat, “Well, to be honest, Reimas, it wasn’t _much_ of a relationship…”

“What do you mean?”

“We went through all the motions of a relationship…” I squint, trying to think of how to explain it, “We spent time together; we talked about our lives; we had sex… but I never really gave him a chance, emotionally.”

“Tell me about the sex,” says Reimas.

“Excuse me?” I’m sipping water at the time and I almost spit it at her.

She laughs, “The way you just listed sex tells me there’s a story there… am I right?”

She’s perceptive, I’ll give her that.

“Well… I was sort of using him—like… I might as well have been masturbating a lot of the time,” I admit.

“And why did you do that, Anders?”

As soon as she asks, I _know_ the answer. I’m reticent to say it aloud, but this _is_ what I pay her for.

“...because if I treated it like having sex with another person—being _open_ with someone else—I would have to give up the _ridiculous_ notion that I’m going to get back together with Alistair someday.”

She nods and purses her lips, letting the silence sit thickly in the room.

“—and I’m not going to do that… am I?” I ask rhetorically.

She smiles sadly, “It seems unlikely, doesn’t it?”

I nod.

“And besides, Anders… weren’t _you_ the one who wanted to break up?”

That’s the crux of it. _I_ did this.

 

* * *

 

For the next few weeks, I see her a lot. I need to get a lot of things out of my brain and it helps a lot. A month ago, I made a decision about my top three specialties. By the time my rejection or acceptance letters start rolling in, I bet I’ll feel a lot better. I made a list of them on a piece of paper and tacked it to my wall at home—it’s a reminder of what I’m working toward.

  * Sports Medicine
  * Nutrition and Wellness
  * Non-surgical Spine Care



The last one is an homage: that’s what Alistair does. At least, that’s what his board specialty is. He actually spent most of his time working with interns when I knew him. It feels so weird—I’m about to _be_ an intern. I bet he was a really awesome teacher…

 

* * *

 

“Hey Andy,” says Hawke one afternoon, “Can you come over to our place tonight? We want to have a pre-wedding meeting.”

“Yeah, okay,” I laugh because that sounds so formal. In the month since Fenris and Isabela had their one and only fight, they managed to work it out and it’s full-speed-ahead toward wedding bells.

I head there right after class.

Inside, everyone is already sitting in a circle: clockwise it goes Hawke, Merrill, Bethany, Carver, Fenris, and Isabela. They’ve left a space for me.

“Hi, guys,” I smile and sit down on the floor with everyone else.

“How's it going, buddy?” asks Bethany. She's looking a bit overwhelmed next to me.

“Pretty well, and you?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I'm ready for this wedding to be over…”

We both laugh quietly. She and the other bridesmaids have had a huge amount of work to do, from what I understand. Bethany loves Isabela, but this might be a bit much. It’s crazy what weddings do to people.

 

Hawke has an easel set up with a list of jobs.

“All right,” says Isabela, standing, “thank you for being here.” She clears her throat, imitating some kind of business executive. “We are here today to dole out some _jobs_ …”

We all laugh and start the process of divvying them up. Some are significantly better than others. For example, ‘ _reception greeter_ ’ is highly preferable to ‘ _Leandra wrangler_.’

Eventually, we all get assigned and Fenris pours the wine. He’s testing out bottles that they want to have at the bar. I’m sampling a sparking rosé—it’s quite good.

“So,” Fenris sits next to me and speaks quietly, “I heard that you broke up with Renee…”

“Well, he broke up with me, actually,” I correct.

Fenris doesn’t look amused.

“...it had to happen, Fen… I’m sorry,” I try to show him contrition in my face.

“You don’t have to be _sorry_ —I just want to know how you’re doing,” he smiles.

“Thanks, buddy,” I throw an arm around his shoulders. “I’m doing okay. Is _he_?”

“Yeah—I think he’s going to be fine… this is actually much better for him than you stringing him along forever,” says Fenris. He’s incredibly blunt.

“Yeah, I know…”

“Well… now that you won’t have a date at the wedding,” he makes a face, “maybe you could be in a charge of a really important job?”

“I already have _three_ jobs,” I point to the list on the easel.

He laughs.

“Can you hold my ring for me?” he asks, producing a small black box.

I feel all warm and tingly, “yeah— _of course_ , Fen.”

We smile at each other.

No matter what happens—I have the _best_ people in the world on my team.

 

* * *

 

The day of the wedding, Fenris looks incredibly handsome. His tux is cut in such a way that his tattoos are still sort of obvious. I really like it—I like knowing that he’s not going to change who he is just because he’s doing something traditional, like getting married.

Isabela looks _hot_ , of course. Her dress is formal, in terms of length, but the entire bodice is made of mesh. The most striking thing about her, though, is how _happy_ she looks. I’m not sure if I’ve ever looked that happy in my whole life.

 _That’s a lie. I did **once**_.

* * *

 


	10. Alistair in July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is faced with some information he'd rather not know, but comes out of it with an epiphany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: (ish). I have no idea how to really rate these. I not sure if a teen should be reading these, but mature seems like a bit much.

* * *

**Alistair in July**

* * *

 

Dear Anders,

I'm going to be giving a lecture at a spinal stability symposium early next year. I was just asked—it’s a pretty big opportunity for me. I keep thinking there's a chance I could see you there. Ever since I found out that you’re interested in what I do… I keep imagining the whole thing...

I'd look up and you'd be standing right next to me.

“Is this seat taken?” you'd ask.

I'd shake my head and blush—boyish and anything-but-brave.

But _you'd_ be the strong one. You'd be the one who takes chances. You know why? Because that's who you've _always_ been, Andy… twenty times braver than I am.

 

[a couple scribbles and some crossed out words.]

 

* * *

 

Alistair's phone buzzes noisily on the desk. He looks up from his letter and sighs. He keeps promising himself he'll stop writing to Anders… but he hasn't stopped yet.

“Hi, Dorian,” he answers.

“Hey… are we still on for tonight?” asks Dorian.

“Yeah, definitely.”

They've planned a get-together to commemorate the fact that they're all growing up. Cullen and Dorian will have a baby soon and they won't be able to go out as much. ...and Alistair is getting _married_ , of course. Not that that means much—Icis is the life of any party.

“Okay, great…” Dorian pauses. “There's just one item I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Renee is in town,” says Dorian.

“Okay…”

“And he wants to tell us some stuff… apparently he just had a breakup…” continues Dorian. “So I was wondering if he could come out with us tonight…”

Alistair wants to argue, but he knows he'll sound like an asshole if he does.

“Yeah. That's fine,” he agrees.

“Good,” laughs Dorian, “because Cullen already invited him… so I guess it will be the four of us.”

“Great,” says Alistair.

They agree on the time and hang up. Alistair tries not to ruminate. There's no reason to think that Renee’s breakup has _anything_ to do with Anders. They were just at _one event_ together—they weren't really _dating_. As he argues with himself, he lets the tip of his pen wander back to the page… before he knows it, he's drawing absent circles across his words.

Over the last six months he's almost filled a notebook with letters like this one. It's sad—and more than that, it's _despicable_. Icis deserves better.

He resigns himself to being _nice_ to Renee. He hopes he’s broken up with someone named Dave who drives a motorcycle and has perfect black hair and piercing blue eyes—someone _completely_ unlike Anders.

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” says Cullen at the door to a noisy bar downtown. He claps Alistair on the back and ushers him inside.

“Where's Dorian?” asks Alistair. He _wants_ to ask where Renee is too, but he doesn't.        “He'll be here soon,” says Cullen.

They find a u-shaped booth in the back and order a round of drinks while they wait. Something about it feels _awkward_ , actually. If Alistair thinks about it too much, he knows he'll start to sweat. There was a time when they spent _all_ their days like this—a time when Alistair knew _everything_ about Cullen: his gestures, the subtle way his mouth curves around a joke. Now, they seem only vaguely connected by shared history and shared people. Dorian is their bridge.

“It's really weird how different things are now, huh?” says Cullen. He _sounds_ nonchalant, but his eyebrow lifts in a way Alistair remembers: _he_ feels weird too.

“Yeah…” Alistair smiles and leans into the table. “To be honest, I never would have predicted an outcome like this one…”

They both smile.

“I never thought we'd be _friends_ …” Alistair adds.

Cullen laughs, “What do you mean? We've known each other for over a decade!”

Alistair purses his lips, “We were never really _friends_ , though…”

They nod to each other—a fog of understanding settles in the air between them.

Cullen sips his drink and looks toward the door. Alistair knows that means he wishes Dorian would appear and save them from this conversation—it's _painful_.

“Well, I'm glad we worked it out…” adds Cullen finally.

“Yeah,” Alistair smiles. “Me too.” He wants to say something meaningful—something brave. “I'm really _happy_ for you, you know,” he blurts.

Cullen blushes—his left dimple is deeper than the right.  “Thanks, Al… I'm happy for you too… I can't wait for your wedding.”

Alistair thinks about it. He's _sure_ the whole thing is going to go off without a hitch, but he's not sure how he'll _feel_. His vows have been in a state of flux for the last several months. Before he ran into Anders they were basically _done_ , but now they don't sound right. The whole thing feels like a lie.

Before either of them can get any deeper into the melancholy that seems to have taken hold, Dorian appears.

“Hello, Love,” he kisses Cullen's cheek and slides into the booth next to him. Cullen pushes over and bumps into Alistair’s shoulder. Despite the gravity of their conversation, neither of them bristles at the contact.

Renee slides in on Alistair’s left. They haven't seen each other in ages.

“Hi, Al,” he smiles. “It's great to see you.”

“You too.” Alistair isn't lying—he really likes Renee. He's just afraid… that they have something new in common— _someone_.

“So, Renee,” says Dorian, once they've ordered. “What happened? Tell me all the details.”

Renee looks at Dorian strangely—anxiety behind his smile. He’s young enough that he hasn’t learned to hide that sort of thing. Or maybe he’s just _good_ —Alistair wonders if _he_ was like that once too.

“Maybe we shouldn't get into it _now_ …” mumbles Renee.

Alistair's heart sinks. It's easy enough to see where this is going.

“It's okay,” says Alistair. “We're here for you.” To someone who didn't really _know_ Alistair, it would seem like he was being the bigger person—like he'd moved on and didn't care what happened to Anders. But really, he just wanted to hear Anders’ name. He wanted to hear about his life—even if it hurt.

Renee smiles gently, “Okay.”

The four of them lean into the table in unison.

“It just wasn't going to work out…” begins Renee. “Anders wasn't _ready_ for a relationship.”

Dorian nods understandingly.

Cullen has an arm around Dorian’s back, which strikes Alistair as especially poignant. _Cullen_ was never ready for a relationship—not until he got with the _right_ person.

“So what _happened_?” asks Cullen.

“Nothing, really,” sighs Renee. “It just became clear that we were never going to be much of anything…”

While Renee explains the details of Anders’ behavior, Alistair is struck by how foreign _this_ Anders seems. The Anders _he_ knows is kind and thoughtful and gentle. _This_ Anders is different—someone else entirely. A narcissistic patch of Alistair's brain _insists_ that Anders needs him—to bring out the best in him.

“Besides,” Renee laughs, which brings Alistair's attention back to the table, “he's completely married to his work… just like all you doctors…”

Dorian and Cullen smirk at each other. Alistair feels himself flushing—Anders is almost a doctor; they’re almost the _same_.

“Well, I'm glad you're doing all right, Renee,” says Dorian. “It sounds like you made the right decision.”

“I think so too… even though it hurts,” agrees Renee. “I was falling in love with him…”

Alistair's mouth feels dry. He was tolerating everything up until this point just fine, but that _word_ feels like a dagger. _Love_. It occurs to him all at once—something deep in his guts that makes him want to vomit: when he thinks about love, he thinks about Anders. When he imagines what love feels like, _Anders_ is his frame of reference.

As soon as it feels appropriate, he stands and excuses himself to the restroom. He pulls out his phone and types a new note:

 

* * *

 

Dear Anders,

I've gotten myself into an extremely weird situation. I'm sitting in a booth with Dorian, Cullen, and Renee. Renee is telling us about breaking up with _you_. You kind of broke his heart… but not as badly as you broke mine. Not as badly as _we_ broke it _together_.

This whole night is like the twilight zone, because I'm out there pretending that I don't care—pretending that I'm fine with you moving on. But I _do_ care. This night is a lie; my whole _life_ is a lie.

So now it's time for the truth… even if you'll never see this… I miss you. And I _love_ you. And I don't know what I'm doing. And I would give anything to talk to you—because _you're_ the person who helps me figure stuff out. But since that's not an option, I have to stick to the facts. Right now, I only know one thing: **I _can't_ marry Icis**.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we let out a collective scream about that last line!?
> 
> _______________________
> 
> Well, that's it for another challenge! Thank you so much for reading these. 
> 
> I'm unveiling the next main chapter in a couple days. (I'm thinking Monday?) ...and the next challenge will follow shortly. It's a 9-day challenge. Each chapter is a morning, afternoon, or evening of three consecutive days. A lot of it is very sweet--I can't wait to share it with you. :)
> 
> Please send me notes, comments, tweets, or messages (I'm ponticle on tumblr and twitter too). I'd love to talk about where you'd like to see the story go or predictions for what I've already written. I'm also open to generalized flailing. <3


End file.
